Devil inside
by Broken Mirrors
Summary: A beginning for a longer story board, Yagyuu is getting married, Niou's anxious. Future AU. [YagyuuxNiou, some YukiNiou and NiouKiri along the way]
1. Chapter 1

**Fandom:** PoT

**Chapter Title:**(There shall be one)

**Chapter title:** Chapter1: Devil Inside

**Characters:** Niou Masaharu, Yagyuu Hiroshi, Kirihara Akaya and mentions of Yukimura.

**Notes:** Oh, it's D1 fic but there's mentions of NiouYuki and NiouKiri and YagyuuOC around.

**Summary:** Future AU, Yagyuu's getting married, Niou's having affair with Kiri, nothing is just the way it should be.

Somebody once told Niou Masaharu that life is beautiful because of the imperfection of it. At the time, Niou agreed, because anything perfect would end up boring after a while. Imperfection means fractures in the pattern, broken pattern means countless possibilities - a result Niou finds pleasing. Well, at least he thought so before.

Years after, vision unclear, the dusty wind of lazy summer evening sweeping dirt through the front yard of the characteristically seedy motel just outside Tokyo, painting Niou's sweaty chest with splatters of gray sand dust. The cigarette hanging between his shaking fingers, beginning to burn his skin but he doesn't notice. The beauty of life is now somewhat lost to him. He's more familiar with the irony of it.

A truck wheezes past, lifting more dust to the lazy wind. The scent of city on its wake, the inevitable tick of time, Niou feels the ground moving under his feet. The word shifts, without caring if he can adapt or not.

_Engagement party… Hope you'll be there, Masaharu… Saturday night, six o'clock sharp. Don't forget._

Niou first meets Yagyuu when they are just babies. Not many know that their mothers were old high school friends. Niou doesn't remember much before his family moved. But his mother likes to mutter how sweet a child he was back then. Everybody else finds it hard to believe; he seems to dedicate his life for trouble and misbehaving from the moment he is transferred to the new school. His sister loses her accent in few weeks to talk like the other kids, he picks up new accents to mix with his old one. Mariyo is nervous of having new friends and fitting in, he deliberately doesn't want to.

Few years later, when Yagyuu's family moves after them, Niou against all expectations has finally adapted into a new school and city. The school psychologist says he just has too much imagination and no patience. And he feels like proving her right. He stops going to the appointments she has arranged for him.

They aren't strangers when they meet again; Niou has a pile of letters under the bottom board of his closet (he likes them being his and only his) to prove the fact. He never has written back, but he has called few times. They aren't strangers but could be as well, that much they have changed. Yagyuu is more Yagyuu and Niou more Niou. Yagyuu has glasses now, Niou a big bruise on his left cheek. And still they hit it off because of the similarity both of them know is there, like a twisting mirror image. Niou shrugs it off with a smirk but Yagyuu finds himself amused by the fact for years to come.

Like the distant scents from childhood they both recognize, dusty taste of water from the public beach their families used to go, Niou's shampoo on Yagyuu's pillow from the countless sleepovers, the sound of Yagyuu's sleepy voice over the phone when Niou is sick and he has promised to keep Niou company for the whole night, they are bind together. Even if their first conversation starts with Yagyuu accusing Niou 'you stole my magnifying glass' and Niou answering lazily 'don't take things so literally; I don't even remember you having one', they still seem to both answer the same compelling beat of one heart that throbs in time with the other's.

They play games through high school. Games of distance and clever words. Names are only meant for the audience, they rarely address each other by name while being alone, they have roles for classroom, tennis club, home… They never speak of them. Not even once. Niou sometimes wonders if they have roles for themselves but forgets it the next time he sees himself mirrored in Yagyuu.

Playing doubles in tennis is a game too, a challenge for yet another make believe. It becomes a little more, but only a little. Their combination is perfect, the control of the game shifts smoothly and the lack of stability can confuse anybody, which is when they know the game is theirs. Niou is surprised even years after when he realizes that he actually cared for the damn tennis team and the freaks that Yukimura had managed to dig up. And for some odd reason the unexpected loyalty brings balance for his proximity with Yagyuu. Yukimura warns him once that he's playing with fire but Niou shrugs it off by telling him that he likes it hot.

Yagyuu is taking one of his father's colleague's daughters to movies one valentines day when Niou shares his first time with Yukimura. It's their second year at junior high and Niou can't believe he hasn't done it before. Seiichi has soft but demanding touch and a narrow bed that frames their bodies as Niou pins him down, kisses turning needy and his name on Seiichi's lips only a throaty moan. They've had sex countless times after but the first time was the only they both were thinking someone else.

At his graduation party, Niou kisses Yagyuu. Drunk and intoxicated by the false sense of freedom, he throws his arms around his friend's neck and after drawling something very shameless into his ear, he presses his beer tasting lips on the grim line of mockingly smiling lips. Yagyuu slaps him to the face and Niou thinks he deserves it. The next morning he still says he doesn't remember why his lip is swollen and slightly broken, they both know it's a lie and that makes it less a lie and actually just avoiding speaking the truth.

Niou spends most of the next summer in Yagyuu's room, he has brilliantly flaming fights with his father because he didn't get accepted to any college, not that he really tried either. Niou has another kind of plans for the next year. But he patiently works in a nearby flower shop so that in the autumn, when Yagyuu leaves to Tokyo and the university, he can afford a plain ticket out of the country and some pocket money before he finds job and some kind of place to live in wherever he lands at.

The next year, Yagyuu receives post cards from Munchen, Vienna, Belfast, a small envelope with a withered marihuana leaf from Amsterdam or a package with a small gray stone from Stonehenge, a flyer of a rave at St. Petersburg and one drunken phone call from Rome. Niou's sister calls Yagyuu once or twice a month to ask if he has heard from Masaharu. Niou keeps grudges and Yagyuu tells his family that he's alive. Their balance is still intact even if Niou is hundred of kilometers away.

The last days in school Yagyuu feels somewhat anxious. He'll be staying the summer at Tokyo, working in a small medical firm as a lab assistant because his father thought it would be good for him to have some work experiment when the school is finished. Which means he's not worrying about moving like a good part of the other students around him. His small apartment is silent and calm like always, just like he prefers it, and yet something is off. One morning when he's about to leave for school and finds Niou behind his door, he knows what he has been missing. Niou's hair has gotten long and it hangs over the silent seablue eyes, a pale smirk over the narrow line of his mouth. It's like there never was a year between them.

It takes Yagyuu more than a week to finish the letter Niou wrote him during his time abroad. It's like a small novel of impersonal observations, laid out in sarcastic humor. Yagyuu finds himself laughing silently at Niou's sharp tongue and random stick figure drawings on the side of the text. He asks why Niou never sent his letters. Niou shrugs and tells him that Yagyuu doesn't like unfinished things.

Niou doesn't like studying, the three years in college mess up his system entirely. Yagyuu finds hard to find reasons for his friend to go on. But because he knows Niou will do it, if not for anything else, at least for his patient insisting, he keeps them both droning on.

Yagyuu proceeds on his medical career like it was planned a long time ago. His father introduced him to the girl he will be dating as a long time investment, they fit well together. She's determined and beautiful, bright and funny. Niou likes her but teases Yagyuu that in few years he will be married, with one point five children and working long hours in well paid job at allergy clinic as his father's junior partner and die from old age at his thirtieth birthday.

Niou doesn't know what he wants to do so he does right about everything. From selling houses to playing card games as a professional and finally settles down for a while as a freelance reporter. He travels a lot, usually fairs well with his random jobs as long as they don't cage him down for too long and makes a habit of wild one-night stands with both men and women. Yagyuu tells him there's no way he will treat for free Niou's various health problems he's bound to gather with his lifestyle. Niou laughs and tells him he'll pay them by leaving all his earthly possessions to Yagyuu by a secret will which is written in riddles.

Once they have a double date with Yagyuu's girlfriend and Niou's latest muse, like he calls her (Yagyuu wonders in the phone if Niou just forgot her name and Niou chooses not to answer him). Niou has more fun than he has had in years, annoying the hell out of Yagyuu's wife candidate, his girlfriend of the day sulks most of the dinner and Yagyuu finds himself mildly amused until his girlfriend quietly excuses herself to ruin her makeup in the bathroom by crying frustrated tears from anger towards one silver haired trickster. It's the first and last double date they'll ever have.

They still play tennis, every Sunday. Because Yagyuu wants so. Niou will show up at Yagyuu's apartment door every now and then with his racket and demand a game. Sometimes they have the rare possibility to play together, not against each other. Yukimura and Kirihara suck so bad in doubles that it's child's play to beat them but still so much better than stealing points from each other. They don't do the switch anymore, but sometimes Niou feels like Yagyuu and Yagyuu like Niou and it shows in their game. Yukimura tells Niou he's been burned and Niou can't really disagree but does so anyhow out of pure stubbornness.

When Yagyuu has to cancel one of their tennis dates on Sunday afternoon Niou finally has to admit he feels a little jealous. He doesn't care it was for important family gathering and she and Yagyuu had received an invitation together, nor does he care that it's childish. He has always been joking about the anal nature of their tennis dates but now feels like he's betrayed when they have to reschedule.

From the pure irritation, he beats Kirihara in a dirty singles game and they end up drinking and making out on Niou's couch. They wake up half dressed and painfully aware of their position of a choice the next morning, Niou lying on top of Kirihara and pleasantly nestled between the slender thighs. The flush on Kirahara's cheeks is adorable enough that Niou buys him breakfast at the nearby café and they both end up ditching work and going out again, this time ending in Kirihara's bed. Niou didn't realize Kirihara's attraction to men before, later he will curse his poor awareness.

Niou never says anything to Yagyuu about his jealousy, it would be idiotic. Actually, he never mentions it to anybody. It's his private little secret that will go grave with him. The next week Yagyuu tells him he's engaged with his girlfriend and wants to see Niou at the party for the occasion. Something breaks within Niou and like spell bound, he kisses Yagyuu for the second time in his life.

_Engagement party… Hope you'll be there, Masaharu… Saturday night, six o'clock sharp. Don't forget. _

He remembers how Yagyuu's skin tastes like, how the gentleman's hands on his hips feel, what the world breathless really means. But still he doesn't know why they did what they did. Nor does he know why he has been running away. The whole week, starting from the next day, a new town for every new night.

Kirihara sleeps in the little motel room as Niou stands alone in the dark night, his sweaty skin feeling dirty, the nightly carnage hanging onto him like a dirty moan, shower won't clean him more than the dusty wind will. Oh he hates himself, hates because the longing he sees in Kirihara's eyes is the same as in his and all he wants is to break it, shatter into little bleeding pieces, no matter what the cost.

Eleven past midnight. Eleven past the day that has quickly became the worst in his life. Worse than the day his father first hit him, which has been the top score in that list for a very long time now. Oh poor abused child him? Hardly. But that was the day when Niou counts his childhood ending and something else completely starting. The next day he met Yagyuu again on the school yard, accusing him of stealing the magnifying glass.

Eleven past the day, he muses, his youth ended and the inevitable downward spiral towards death begun. Maybe he finally has to learn how to lie.

He flicks open his cell, the charms hanging onto it slapping against his hand. A marihuana leaf and a little jewelry key he got from Yagyuu when he graduated from college. Niou would jokingly ask if it's a key to Yagyuu's heart and now he yanks it off the phone, ignoring the 23 missed phone calls and punches in the number he knows in his dreams. He doesn't need any keys, nor does he need any hearts either. Never has.

"Masaharu?" Not sleepy, not smiling, worried and tired. Niou feels a hint of regret but only a hint.

"Yo, just called to tell you my congratulations," he murmurs into the phone.

"Are you... Where are you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just get on with your thing. Tell my regards to the new wifey as well."

"...I'd rather--"

"I'd rather you say nothing. But for every Sunday she steals the tennis from me, she'll own me one. Starting from tomorrow."

As Yagyuu falls silent for a moment, Niou feels a sleep warm body press against him, breath against his neck and lips finding the wing of his shoulder blade. Kirihara's hands are only slightly smaller than his as they round his waist, pressing against the taunt abs and directly under the waist of his jeans.

"Masaharu, should we talk about this?"

"There's nothing to talk. We'll play tennis tomorrow. Good night."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Fandom:** Prince of Tennis  
**Title:** Devil inside  
**Chapter/title:** 3, (I hate titles. This one shall have one eventually.)  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Yagyuu, Niou, Yukimura  
**Notes/summary:** Well it's the next part. What else do I have to say about it? There's violence. :D; (Maybe that I still am writing future AU?) You can read the second chapter in my journal. I can't post it in here.

**Yagyuu**

There's a purple bruise on his chin, lips chipped and the bottom one broken. He's dressed in tattered jeans and wrinkled, white shirt over a red tank top. His hair is messy, spilling over his anxious eyes in untamed strands of silver tuffs, too long, uncared. A cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, ash from the burning tip sweeping into the lazy summer wind. He stands on the courts with his racket thrown over his shoulder carelessly.

Niou Masaharu, your best friend.

You feel overdressed in your sporty attire, shorts and a brand mark t-shirt, your racket packed up in a proper bag.

"You're early," you greet him awkwardly, wincing at the soft chuckle that slips out between his lips.

He grins, razor sharp edge of thin lips. "So are you." His voice is cold, amused. You can sense the naked gap between the two of you, describing the passed two weeks too vividly for your taste.

You sigh, putting down your racket bag and stepping towards him slowly. It's a meticulous study to figure out how he wants this laid out. But you'll manage somehow. You have to.

"Where have you--"

"I already told you," he interrupts you with a frustrated grimace. "There's nothing to talk about. Are you gonna play without your racket?"

"Alright," you say silently, knowing he has to play by his unwritten rules. You owe him that much to comply. Just this once.

The air is dusty, wind warm and the day sunny. You're both sweaty by the time he has stolen you the first game. Your mind is somewhere else, the game seems strained and somehow you feel like you should lose. You know he can tell what you're thinking by the way he looks at you, annoyed and snorting every time the ball wheezes past you, unnoticed. He's in mood for a kill, diving after every ball like mad. His shirt is gray from the dust, knuckles bloody after taking  
hit from the ground. You can't help but wonder where he has been. It's not the first time Niou has been away without you knowing his location, not the first time he hasn't answered your phone calls. But now it bothers you. Perhaps because you never had time to ask him why. And now it's too late. You still can remember how it felt like between the two of you, close enough to suffocate on the deep kisses, hard enough to bruise, the caresses of his bony hands, breathless, insane.

It never occurred to you that he could want it. You'd be lying if you'd say you had not thought of it at all, however. Some nights when you were both drunk, he was laughing, you were smiling, a game of different altitude. Now that you think of it, you have to admit it being stupidity on your part. Why would you have been the only one aware enough? It did not surprise you to find out that touch did not bring you closer, intimacy of the body, intimacy of the mind, what is the difference?

Maybe he just played a better game of feint and distraction.

Seven past two, game is two to three on your favor when he sprawls out on the warm asphalt of the courts tiredly, panting and sweating. He throws his racket away and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. The smoke spirals up in the lazy wind and he looks at the cloudless sky with half closed eyes. You take a hint and walk to him, dropping to sit down on the warm sand.

"How was the wedding?" he asks after two more drags from his cigarette, his tone lazy and indifferent. "Blushing bride? Bubbling champagne? Too drunk to carry her to bed?"

You laugh with him, yours strained, his husky and low. "Something like that," you answer with a little shrug, fingering the newest add to your usual attire, the ring. "Dad choked us all with a too long speech, mom cried, your sister asked after you. Bride worried a stain on her dress and only one piece of furniture was broken when an uncle of hers throw his respectable weight on it after enjoying a bit too much of the bubbly you mentioned."

"Sounds like a real ball," he says slowly, blowing out a cloud of smoke as he spoke. You cannot tell if he is joking or not, his tone of voice faceless.

"She wanted to know if you'd join us for dinner next Sunday after we meet for tennis," you start carefully, still reluctant to voice her desires to him. Not sure if you even want them to meet anymore.

"Sure," he replies easily, his expression unchanged. "Not every day I get home cooked food. What about honeymoon? Isn't it supposed to come next?"

You give into a small shrug, playing with the idea of lying and yet you can't do it. "Both of us have work. We'll be taking a vacation next summer."

He snorts and looks up at you with those narrowed eyes that say he thinks you are being ridiculous. You did not expect anything else from him, but it still makes you sigh. She had accepted the lack of time as a natural course of things. Work first, then private life, that's how the world turned around.

He beats you in the next game with renewed vigor, maybe he got a boost from the cigarette. And then you continue to the next game without a word spared in between. Neither of you would have the breath for it either.

Tiebreak, either you or him. He obviously wants it more than you do, and yet your hangover is less intense than his. The ball bouncing from one side of the court to the other, his feet slipping, your wrist hurting. Neither of you notice when someone walks to the courts, before it was too late. You almost run into Yukimura as he wraps his fingers around the speeding ball, catching it just a moment before your racket swings across the spot where his hand was extended in the air. He looks angry, and wisely you keep your mouth shut even if the interruption is hardly pleasing you. Niou chews on his broken lip and says nothing either. Maybe he knows what is coming.

"You just have to best yourself time after time in disappointing me, don't you?" he asks tensely as he walks over the net to Niou. The ball dropping to the ground as he advances. Niou shrugs, never eager to admit to his mistakes.

You can hear the smacking sound all across the courts, disgusting crunch to accompany it, across the courts as Yukimura hits him. Niou refuses to cry out, falling on his ass on the ground with a soft grunt and staying there, hand pressed to his bleeding nose.

"I'll be home tonight," Yukimura says coldly as he looks down at Niou. "Stop by. We have things to talk about."

Niou doesn't reply but he will go. You know that as well as he and Yukimura do.

He smiles at you as he walks to you, stops briefly to clasp your hand and pass a soft congratulation. You did not invite him to the weddings for reasons you now ponder upon. You spare him a pale smile and a polite thank you. Neither of you wish to drag the moment any longer, and so he leaves.

Niou climbs up to his feet and collects his racket. Without another word, he walks away too. You are left behind to back up your bag and collect the balls, wondering what had passed between the two of them.

----  
**Yukimura**

He's drunk when he finally decides to show up. It's late, you already gave up on him and went on with your evening routine, taking care of the plants, sending last work related emails and finally settled down to watch some late night show on your plush couch.

He stands on your vestibule like a stranded bird that flew in from your balcony window, swaying on his feet and avoiding your gaze. Left side of his face is bruised purple and he reeks of smoke and alcohol, bitterness and regret. You sigh and pull him to the kitchen, push him to sit down and go start the coffee. He doesn't say anything while you go fetch some cups and after a brief pondering also pull out a whiskey bottle form its hiding place. Your kitchen table is spotless, like always, a small cacti placed in the middle to pride on its single, bright, red flower. He has hidden his face into his hands and is breathing deeply as you pull yourself a chair opposite his, but you know he hasn't dozed off. Just biding his time.

"You talked with him," he says silently. And you know it's not a question, just a observation, or perhaps a way to start the upcoming conversation on equal ground.

"Yes," you answer calmly, remembering the troubled green of Akaya's eyes as he stopped by earlier in the morning. "He didn't say much but I could guess the rest. Niou, what the hell is wrong with you?" You can't help the anger in your tone of voice, it's like a washing tide that comes over you again.

"I dunno," he mutters, refusing to look up at you. "I wasn't thinking, I guess."

"Well, hell, learn to think," you snap. "Now."

He's silent for a while, and you get up to pour you both a cup of coffee, spicing them up with whiskey. You clonk the cup in front of him on the table and sit down again, waiting.

"I don't owe you any fucking explanations," he says defiantly, his words a bit slurred. Then he looks up and hides the displeased line of his mouth with the coffee cup.

You shrug and sip your own coffee. "No you don't," you say matter of factly, and whip him with a dark frown. "But you owe one for him."

Scratching the back of his neck, he leans back and mutters curses under his breath. Then he narrows his eyes at you and you begin to wonder how drunk he really is. Or maybe he's more used to the buzz of the alcohol in his blood.

"What if I was going to pull through with it?" he throws at you with annoyance you know is not really directed at you but the matter at hand. Perhaps a little at your persistence.

"Don't even think about lying to me, Haru. You think I don't know you well enough?" You ask him and cross your pajama clad knees, one top of the other. Your arching brow is mocking enough to force out a small burst of coughing from him. "I'd rather not see you lying more to him either." You finish your small moment of self-important arrogance.

And just as you expected, he answers you with guilty anger. "You're not a captain anymore, Seiichi. The hell you know what's good for us in every fucking thing."

You sigh, knowing he won't admit to anything even if you'd demand him to. It might even make things worse. You sip your coffee in silence and when you're finished, you rise up to take your cup to the sink and glance at the clock.

"You have work tomorrow?" you ask in blank tone of voice. You're not sure why his stupidity bothers you so much this time. You thought you were used to it by now. He shakes his head and you sigh again. "Sleep on my couch tonight. But shower first, and burn those clothes while you're at it."

You listen to the water while you fetch some clean clothes for him, you still are the same size after all these years, and contemplate on sending an email to Yagyuu. But eventually you decide against it, knowing it's not your problem to butt in, they will deal with it as they see fit. If they see fit. You bet on the later, knowing how the both of them are.

You're already in bed when he stumbles towards the couch in the dark room, and feel sadistic satisfaction hearing him curse from pain after hitting his toe on the sofa table.

He's still sleeping in the morning when you leave for work. You leave a note for him on the kitchen table, then hide the whiskey bottle again.

"Food in the fridge. Eat. And clean before you leave."

----  
**Niou**

Her dress is light, gray flower patterns on white, perfectly matching with his tie. She smiles politely when she opens the door for you and accepts the wine bottle you brought. Their apartment is not big, but it's neat and homey. You feel like a stray dog surrounded with the light colored furniture, candles burning in stone cups on sofa table, tasteful painting hanging above cream colored couch. For a moment you ponder upon the dirt under your fingernails, the dust on the fainted denim of your jeans and then picture her strangling you when you have spilled red wine on her plush couch.

Such a perfect picture of loving harmony.

Yagyuu looks tired; you're not sure what to think about that. You had a nice game just hour prior and even if you still can't look straight at him, it seems like the balance is restored. Somehow, barely. It's been a long week and you would have rather just skipped this dinner date if you could have, but she would take an offence and you're not quite ready to bare your weapons with her, the new wife.

She breezes to the kitchen, arranging vegetables on porcelain, straightening tablecloth, boiling water for tea. Yagyuu stands awkwardly in the living room door while you eye around you. You take a peek at his office, books neatly on their shelves, his graduation diploma framed above a heavy wooden desk, dark leather chair behind it. You wonder idly where did he hide his porn magazines when obviously everything is laid out by her hands. Then you grin and pat his shoulder, pushing him towards the couch.

"Yukimura demanded we whip the courts with them next weekend. So, you gotta reserve another hour for the play date," you say carelessly as you sit down beside him, making sure there's space enough for two people between the two of you. He says nothing at first, looking at you a bit sadly and you find yourself studying the candlelight with an utmost care.

"I'm sure it's possible," he says silently. You nod and snort at his tone of voice.

"She doesn't control your schedule yet, does she?" You tease and decide that it's time to act like nothing really bothered you at all.

"No, she does not," she says from the kitchen doorway and throws you a grin that says she's not the same timid girl anymore who cried out of nervousness for a little teasing. You approve and toss another grin back, lined with sharp teeth, an invite to dance.

"You better brush it up then, girl. He's gonna start a mutiny soon otherwise."

"Don't underestimate the power of my gentle care, Niou-kun," she practically purrs as she pushes a wine glass on both of your hands and seats herself between the two of you. Yagyuu chuckles awkwardly, you laugh out aloud.

It seems to grow quickly into a habit, playful teasing. She has a sharp sense of humor and you find yourself drawn to that fact. You always thought Yagyuu married her because his father approved her, and assumed that it was more or less an arranged marriage. Yagyuu of course, never clarified one way or another. Might have been helpful if you had actually asked. Now you find yourself hesitating. He seems to genuinely like her, and likewise, you realize she's not as timid as you thought, not as dull and conventional.

"It wasn't your first time in the kitchen after all," you tease her after the dinner while collecting bowls and plates from the table. She tried to usher you out with 'what kind of guest helps with cleaning?' Your 'I am no guest but family' made her grimace and warn you that if you'd break even one piece of her porcelain, you'd be the family dog instead and doing the dishes for the next half a year.

"I'm hurt," she gives you a hint of a grin and then purses her lips in mock pout. "You think Yagyuu would have picked a girl who can't cook?"

"Well you know, he picked me as his tennis partner years ago. I'm not quite certain if you could trust in his taste for things."

"I'm shocked, I always thought you tricked him into it."

"No, in fact he begged it from our team leader."

"_Let me teach that Niou idiot how to hold up his racket?_ Such a generous man he has always been."

"No, more like..._Yukimura-san, let me make a humble suggestion. I would learn a lot if I were to be paired together with Niou-kun. We'd light up the courts with our shine._ You know, that kind of thing..."

"And humble too. I'm sure that served well in your advantage."

"What exactly are you suggesting there?"

"What do you think I am? That Yagyuu is, indeed, very amiable man."

It's night already when you leave, dark and cold. Yagyuu offers to drive you back home but you refuse, saying it'll be good exercise to walk. You have something to think about.

He insists on seeing you off, and you both step out to the chilly air. It's the end of summer and air gets surprisingly cold when the sun goes down. You blow into your hands, he pushes his free hand into his pocket, trashes hanging loosely from his other.

Suddenly the awkward there was earlier is back with full force and you grimace silently.

"You sure you'll be happy with her?" you want to ask, but don't know how to articulate those words. You try to form them on your tongue and then spit out. Nothing but a throaty laughter comes out. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, curious. You shrug and avoid his gaze, graving for a cigarette and a drink suddenly.

"I take it that you like her," he says silently, as you turn away from the trashcans, casual as ever.

Something in the way he says it, or perhaps it's that familiar gesture of pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose sets you off. And the next thing you notice is that your hands are grabbing his, pushing him against the shadowed wall of the building that shelters his little nest of a home. There's a hollow within his gaze, and you desperately want to fill it, and tear it apart even wider at the same time.

"I like her," you say as you steal those glasses from his nose, pinning him to the wall with your hip. He looks different blurred, softer and confused. His glasses make things look like that. You keep them pinching your nose as you kiss him. Breathy and light, gentle even. His lips taste like red wine, tremble a little under yours.

He doesn't push you away. And you kiss him again, this time with open mouth, biting gently on his bottom lip. His breath mists his glasses on your face.

It's only later when you're walking towards home that you notice you never gave the glasses back. The fact pushes out an edged grin and you chuckle into your cupped balms to warm them up.

Maybe all love stories don't have to end happily.

TBC


End file.
